Talia hissed in irritation at the blatant stupidity of these people. Set a flag, why don't you! It's not like we were trying to ambush them or anything! Still, now that the harm was done, she had to work with it. At least one of the fools had leveled the playing field. She carefully opened her fan, trying to keep it from reflecting the light. That huge... well, it looked like a gnoll seemed like it was going to be a threat. She judged that she could hit it from here. She tensed up, working out where the best place to aim would be. If she could hit it in the face, she might outright kill it, and if she didn't, then there was a chance she'd blind it. Of course, she'd probably also give away her position, but that really couldn't be helped.

(OOC: Spend a round (or equivalent) aiming, then called shot to the flind's face, hopefully aiming to kill.)

Shooting fast, Vee jabbed the crossbow towards the dour dwarf and let the bolt fly, and prayed that as the axe spun towards him that he might make it back to Nimz alive. In the back of his mind he half-heartedly knew that the crossbow bolt would glance off of the dwarf like he was made entirely of iron. But, he didn't plan on staying that close to find out if he hit or not.

(standing orders - evade close combat with the dwarf and flind. attack of opportunity with thrown dagger if possible, then run like hell)

Dwarves sometimes came into the deserts - seeking trade and ores, so Moruz knew of them, but he had never seen the likes of the other creature before. Still, he was not worried when the newest member of the group failed to hide - The best laid plans last until the first arrow is drawn, so the saying goes.Instead of moving for the attack, Moruz decided to stay where he was, hidden by the tree for the moment - not out of fear, but so the pair did not have the advantage of knowing the exact numbers of the party. If the group could just stay alive for a short while, Moruz could wait for the opportune moment to leap out of the covers and attack from behind. Besides - he would like to wait until that dwarf with his nasty throwing axes was closer before he showed himself to them. Moruz, with gritted teeth and Ouzala held firm, waited.

(Standing orders: Wait, hidden behind the tree until either the Flind or the dwarf is close enough to attack or are focussed in combat, then attempt to charge out to perform a called shot to the hamstring of either one with his Ouzala.)

The smell of gnoll blood was thick in the air, almost overpowering the stench of wet fur coming from the massive Flind. Tristan twisted his head to avoid the splatter of blood getting into his eyes as the smaller, bound gnoll was gutted like a fish, and a low growl rumbled forth from the priest's throat as he turned back to the pair of murderous 'brothers'. Only the darkness of night hid the sheer unadulterated anger suffusing the man. Righteous anger was much different in motive than revenge, but in this case, the end result would be the same.

As Andurian light flooded the clearing and a tripartite staff was drawn in opposition, Tristan flung himself forward, mace held high for a blow of divine justice, all thought of defense blanking from his mind.

--Aethelstan's light spell surprised even the dwarf and Flind, as they grimaced, their foul visages visible for the first time. A shower of light, in the darkness leveled the playing field for the companions. *St. Senren's Glorious Light be Praised* Aethelstan's words however were not heeded nor acknowledged by the mad pair. The entire morbid scene was now illuminated.

--Vee's bolt sped toward its target. He would never know if had hit home, as two thick bladed throwing axes, dug deep into his flesh. One in his upper chest, thankfully missing the heart, was now buried deep in his shoulder. The second axe hit his thigh, lacerating some flesh, but speeding by. Not a direct hit. Vee's head spun. Pain shot through his body, blood spurted, mixing with the rain. He did not even realize at first that he had fallen back several feet, and now lay nearly buried in the ever-wetter muck. His consciousness teetered between the here and now and the sweet everafter. His bolt had likewise missed, adding to his indignity and pain.

--The Flind bore down on Tristan, smashing first one rod of its Flindbar, then spinning with animal celerity and striking again, with another linked club. It spat and shrieked as it did. The brave priest stood his ground, and if he was hurt, which he surely must have been, he wasn’t showing it, though Aethelstan spied a trickle of blood coming down from one of Tristan’s ears, and a gimp in his suddenly weakened leg. One of the hits smashed his hip. The priest swung his mace in a slow deliberate manner compared with his adversary’s beastly agility. By faith or by chance, it struck home. The Flind let out an ignoble whelp, as the mace crashed down on its humped back, crushing bone. The creature recoiled and poised itself to finish off the priest of Trigu, hobbled but anxious. Tristan buckled, and nearly fell himself, but continued standing, shouting Trigu’s Psalm of Battle as he did. The side of his face was now red in the divine light of St. Senren.

--Moruz watched with the grim practiced calm of a warrior. He quickly realized however that unless the dwarf or the flind were somehow drawn to him, there would be no oppurtune strike afforded him, not before others died. The dwarf was closest and Moruz sprung to action, for a moment racing toward the dwarf’s exposed back. Red Hatchet was nearing Vee’s languishing body. Having thrown his twin axes, the dwarf withdrew his hand-to-hand axes, which had until now hung at his side. It was a moment or two before Moruz would bear down on Red Hatchet, or Red Hatchet would simply turn and see the Glass Warrior. No one could guess which would happen first.

--As the Flind leapt at Tristan once more, fury in its eyes, a steel-winged bird came swishing in his direction. Missing the Flind’s temple by mere inches, it instead, sliced bits of meat and fur from the creature’s flank, and whizzed by, eventually diving into the mud. A second later, an arrow shot through the flind’s side, burrowing itself deep in its ribcage. The creature howled, a sound not unlike that of a tortured hyena, and lunged at Tristan, pummeling him with both its weapon and its own mass. Both flind and priest fell in among the existing corpses. For a second, neither moved. Then the flind suddenly straddled Tristan, grunted and bit into his face, tearing at his cheek, as the priest still valiantly struggled to raise his mace with his one free hand, while prone on his back, mud water and blood washing over him. To his credit, he did not scream.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

No sound issued forth from the glass warrior as he charged and swung his weapon with great force. Moruz felt glass and steel collide, and the result was Two shattered spikes - fragments of glass exploding everywhere, chips deflecting off his armor. There was a half-a-second of silence after the near-musical sound of shattered glass as both warriors' weapons recoiled off one another. Using the force of the contradiction of their weapons to his advantage, Moruz moved with it, spinning and slashing his Ouzala in an upward motion from bottom-right to top-left in an effort to open up the dwarfs shirtless midsection. He felt oddly calm, feeling the rain pour down and the touch of his familiar weapon in his hand. For the first time in several days, he was not overly worried about his lost prize - it was just him and the battle.

“What does that fool think he’s doing?” thought Aethelstan in frustration as he watched the valiant, if grossly optimistic, cleric charge briefly into battle with the two brigands. As he had called forth the Light of Andur earlier, the shock that he had felt earlier had faded from his mind. Instead of horror, he now felt a sense of… quiet determination. He could almost hear Saint Senren’s voice, “Get the job done, son.”

He watched the combat as he disentangled himself from the shrub’s thorny embrace. As he strode forth, drawing his mace from its ring on his cord belt, the vicious dwarf’s axes tore into Vee, laying him low. The stranger was likewise having a difficult time of it; that hairy dog-thing had already knocked him on the ground and was apparently using him as a chew toy.

First things first, he thought as he pulled St. Senren’s symbol, the White Flower, from its cord around his neck and laid it against his fallen comrade’s chest. With a brief prayer, he touched Vee with the healing power of Andur, the Lord of Law.

As his ally was healed, his eyes cautiously watched the murderous dwarven berserk duel with Moruz, mere feet away. Moruz, too, seemed calmer, more detached. Clearly, the blessing of St. Senren had been granted them.

--The second arrow pierced the flind's skull with a sickening thud. <<Nat. 20 Aerex!>> The beast moaned then slumped, still atop Tristan, who was not yet visible beneath the flinds corpse, in a half foot of brown water.Talia leapt like a panther from her perch landing not far from the bodies of Tristan and the flind. She surveyed the scene, fishing her steel fan out of the mud. She now had both weapons poised once more.

--Aethelstan knelt by Vee and healed his wounds. He briefly looked up to see the charging, berserk dwarf nearing quickly, two more axes taking the place of his thrown ones. For a moment Aethelstan thought he was doomed to perish beside Keykold, but at that moment, the dwarf turned to his side, and barely avioded a direct hit by Moruz, their weapons clanging with great force. Aethelstan turned back to Vee.

--For a moment, Vee knew he was dead. All those K'tonian mysteries left unexplored he thought, as his lifeforce ebbed away. Then just as suddenly, heralded by the now familiar blessings of St. Senren, Vee felt, well..perfect. His wounds no longer shrieked with pain. He looked up at Aethelstan and involuntarily spat up bloody, muddy water into his saviour's face. Aethelstan briefly grinned, and Vee managed a smile as well. The pair quickly rose, as a thunderous roar from the nearby dwarf, shocked them back to the moment at hand.

--Moruz and Red Hatchet were studies in contrast. The Ouzquin Dremorix moved lithely, spinning, and turning out of the way of an oncoming hatchet, and stabbing savagely with his great spear, the jagged barbs now mostly broken. Red Hatchet began to bellow as he stood nearly still, and swung his deadly axes with uncanny force. Once Moruz struck, burrowing the shaft of his weapon into the belly of the crazed dwarf. He quickly ripped it free, then went high-low, and once again drove the Ouzala into his opponent's belly. The dwarf now had two rivulets of blood washing down his torso and mixing with the mud and rain. The dwarf was relentless. He bellowed once more, and began to dance around like a madman, slashing with his axes...always slashing. Finally he struck home. As Moruz raised his spear, one of the dwarf's axes came down against the warrior's hand-grip. Blood spurted from Moruz' hand, and just then, the second axe bit, striking him in the shoulder, tasting a good amount of flesh. Both warriors backed off momentarily, but not before Moruz nicked the dwarf's face, with a 'strike-in-withdrawal' maneuver. The two titans faced each other again. Eye to eye, axe to Ouzala. The dwarf charged in once more, oblivious to any one but Moruz.

--Aerex, Talia, Vee and Aethelstan all noticed the tragedy before Moruz did. The warrior was still deadly focused on Red Hatchet, and had not yet realized, Aethelstan noted sadly, that two of the Glass Warrior's fingers, had slid from his left hand like falling worms, when the dwarfs first axe connected.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

“Moruz, Fall back!” Aethelstan called as he moved to flank the vicious dwarf. Red Axe would be a fool to ignore a fresh opponent moving in behind him. Aethelstan dropped into a defensive stance; if only he could draw the murderous wretch away from the desert warrior, the rest of the party could pepper him with missile attacks.

He just had to draw the dwarf’s attention without letting him strike with those axes of his. “Fie, sirrah! Thou churlish, beef-witted hedge-pig! Try MY mettle, and I shall smite thee proper!” he taunted.

If he can be goaded into attacking me, thought Aethelstan, I’ll defend myself and lead him a merry chase. If he’s as stupid as he looks (which WOULD be hard), perhaps I can introduce him to Kortan’s Thorn! The cleric couldn’t help but laugh, as the image of the bare-chested brigand caught in the thorny shrub popped into his head.

(Full defense if he attacks, using shrubs as cover. Of course, if he ignores me, I’ll bust his head open with my mace)

She shouldn't do it. She knew she should regroup and observe the dwarf; he was clearly a foe to be reckoned with. But it seemed mightily to her like Moruz was losing ground, and the dwarf's unarmored back was completely exposed. Plus, it looked like Aethelstan was attempting to attract it's attention. More fool him, more luck to her, if it held. She snapped one fan shut and ran as silently and swiftly as she could towards the pair of them, briefly hoping that the fight didn't turn the dwarf to face her. It mattered little.

Blood sang in her ears, seeming, in a moment of madness, to approximate whispers of the dead demanding that they be avenged. Her caravan, her kin, their lives had been stolen away, and it was left to her to collect the debt. She would extract a heavy price from the murdering bandits. The gnoll-thing was dead, but there were others. She pulled her arm back, aiming to drive the closed fan into the dwarf's back like a daggar. The other swung low, slashing at the backs of her enemy's legs. Blood for blood, death for death. I'll end you all.

Vee felt most peculiar, though most of that was from nearly dying. He was still cold and covered from head to toe in soupy gulley water and mud, and raw adrenaline still lingered from his near death wound. But there was something else, an exultation that had come when he had been touched by the cleric's holy symbol. His crossbow now lodged somewhere in the mud, Vee watched as Talia attacked the dwarf, slashing and stabbing at him with her fans. Fear was overcome with anger...the ruddy dwarf had almost killed him and in K'tonian fashion, eye for an eye, he was going to see that the favor was returned.

The back of his mind registered violently sharp pain. But, devoted to the cause of battle, he refused to allow it to come to his conscious thoughts. For some reason, his left hand did not seem to grip onto his weapon very well at all - as a matter of fact, his entire left arm felt numb! Moruz found this confusing, however his focus never wavered from his foe.Aethelstan's voice registered in background of his mind, and Moruz found that he understood the man's words and intentions. The warrior skipped back, always keeping his eyes and deadly focus on the dwarf, but not before he swung his Ouzala once more, attempting to strike Red Hatchet in the chin with the butt of his spear - the only place on his Ouzala which still had a decent amount of un-chipped spikes.

Moruz didn't dare release his hold of the heat of combat in his mind - he knew the moment he did, all that pain would come rushing in... He was sure the dwarf was thinking the same of him, but hell... these d**ned dwarves just don't go down, do they!?

Aerex swung back around the boulder, feeling grim satisfaction for the two arrow strikes. He shoved the bow into his pack and reached for his rapier, preparing to ambush the fierce axe-wielding dwarf. Focus, Matare, he thought to himself. This combat was too dangerous to try and bring the brigands in alive: he would have to go for a kill.

Pain, furious pain in his leg, and a ringing sound in his ear like the lingering sound of the flash of light he had just seen cross his vision, momentarily blinding him. Vaguely in the back of his mind, Tristan knew he had been hit in the head, but the pain and any disability thereof was nonexistant. Only justice against the murderous flind mattered. However, that justice would not be administered by he, for Tristan was bore to the ground too fast for his strike to do any real good.

Another searing pain flooded through his head as the monstrous flind took a nasty chunk out of his cheek. No time to scream, only defend. He tried desperately to bring up his mace in an attack, but the weapon was unwieldy when it's force was moving up instead of down. Combined with his injuries, attack was impossible, but that wouldn't keep him from trying. Suddenly, the flind stopped biting and clawing, instead falling on top of him. He couldn't get up, and he finally stopped trying, the blood from his face sliding down and mingling with the mud on the drenched ground.

Dujek watched the fight rage, and realized that if he got in there he'd be torn to shreds in an instant. But finally the fighting started to slow, and the gnoll went down, and as soon as the dwarf was suffeciently distracted he ran down to the brown-clad priest. Shoving the body of the monster off of him Dujek tried to at least stablize him so that the other priest could work his magics on him.

First Aid check boss.

Logged

For the love of meat, shut up! No one wants to hear your emo character background! My hands are literally melting away, and I'm complaining less than you!—K'seliss, Goblins

--Tristan wasnt dead. Though he was not quite sure if he was alive either, truth to be told. Everything ached. His face, and in fact half of his head was numb. His thigh wound was awful. Slowly, he rose, with the help of the weird fellow with the green cape. The slight, robed man, struggled to push, pull, and prod the flind off of the priest, and then, supporting Tristan as best he could, helped him rise. He proceeded to patch his head wound as best he could as well, and managed to stop the bleeding.

--Vee noticed the pair get up of the muck, as he himself danced in and out of the berserker dwarf’s range, plunging his daggers into empty air. I should learn to fight he thought, suddenly. Truly learn to fight. Vee was always properly impressed with his own crossbow and whip skills. He could give carnival lion-tamers a run for their money, with that whip. But now, he realized that the “road” was not a stuffy, empty tomb, and that the opponent, this wretched badger of a dwarf, was no competing, bespectacled, scholar-explorer.

--How that stubborn priest was alive, where as he, Vee Keykold, adveturer-upon-return, almost perished immediately, Vee could not be sure. He was sure of one thing however. That priest should not be attending any wedding ceremonies anytime soon. As he rose, and lifted his head, wincing the whole time, Tristan showed his face. The “meat” from his entire right cheek, raw and bloody, was dangling down from the side of his face like a floppy patch, giving his exposed jaw the appearance of a malevolent leering grin.

--Vee poked and skulked, keeping himself properly positioned, Aethelstan yelled and swung his mace in circles, attempting to get Red Hatchet’s attention and Moruz persevered, blood spraying off him, both his blood and that of the dwarf. No barb of the Ouzala was left unbroken, though Red Hatchet’s filthy body was now studded with many tiny glass shards. His beard as well, shone in the magical light, from the countless glass specks, which were now imbedded within.

----Aerex bided his time. He knew one strike was key for him. It wasn’t difficult to circumnavigate the bloody dwarf quietly, as Moruz and Aethelstan faced him from two sides. He stalked…mere feet from the fenzy, if one could use the word “stalk” from so close a distance. But stalk he did, then finally lunged, leading with his sabre. The unexpected occurred. Aerex had sliced the dwarf’s beard clear off, he even managed to tear a bit of the dwarf’s chin, though no great damage was done. Red Hatchet whooped and hollered. His eyes were enraged, and he swung wildly at anything that moved. His black beard fell into the muck.

--The dwarf eyed Aethelstan as the priest sought his attention, with one demonic, coal-black eye. Want some laddie? ’ave som then! He flicked his wrist and an axe cut across Aethelstan’s stout leather jerkin. A line ripped across his chest, and quickly reddened. Luckily a minor wound, thought Aethelstan, compared with Moruz, who had just avoided a downward chop of the second axe, but not before losing a single little toe in the process…it was still in the boot, as it sank from site. One more hit Aethesltan knew, and Moruz would fall...again.

--Talia advanced like a storm. As she neared her target she ran faster and faster, sidestepping the lurking Aerex and the hollering, gesturing Aethelstan. She plunged her closed fan into Red Hatchet’s back with such force, that for the first time, since the battle began, the crazed dwarf buckled, and lunged forward. Talia flicked the fan. She had plunged the fan directly into the center of the dwarf’s back, right where two of his axe tattoos intersected. A disgusting sound followed by a burst of flesh and blood drenched Talia and Aethelstan in equal measures. The dwarf bellowed with unimaginable pain and rage. If possible, this sound was worse than the flind’s deathscream. His back was one giant open red wound, pulsating, and showing bits of exposed spine.

--Aethelstan took this moment to bash the dwarf square on the skull, having given up trying to get Red Hatchet to chase him earlier. He heard a jaw crack. Just then, Moruz plunged his Ouzala upwards and sideways, spearing the dwarf from cheek to cheek. Moruz pulled back, and the dwarf’s face collapsed, shredded flesh still stuck to the weapon. For a fleeting second, fear showed in the dwarf’s blood-filled eyes. Finally, Vee stabbed the now suddenly motionless dwarf and grunted with pleasure. Ta-Da!

--For a moment no one moved. Red Hatchet stood there…face ripped open, back shredded, beardless, and still grasping both his axes in his meaty hands, a great barrel of leaking red ale. He still stood!,The bloody bastard still stood, Vee thought.

Red Hatchet slowly sank to one knee in the mud, his eyes now closed, and only deep, pathetic attempts at drawing breath could be heard from him.

--Moruz’s spear came crashing straight down through the top of the dwarf’s skull. Finally, Red Hatchet collapsed into the muck.

--Silence again.

--The rain stopped. Mist rose from the gulch. The companions stood silently, cocooned in their sphere of light…surrounded by the darkness.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Talia stood still for a moment, breathing harshly. Then she removed the fan from the dwarf's back. There were matters to deal with, like getting everyone patched up and gathering up any valuables, and investigating that cave, but that could all wait. She had to do something first. Reaching into a small pocket on the inside of her blouse, she pulled out two thin strips of white paper. Miraculously, they were still clean and dry. She knelt down next to the dwarf's corpse, and soaked one strip in his blood. Then she twisted the now scarlet paper into a tight roll. She stood up, moved over to the gnoll-thing, and repeated the process with the other strip. Then she wiped the blood off of her hand, reached up and pulled a strand of hair out of her scalp. She carefully tied it around the red twists of paper. Once she was done, she put the two small objects back into her pocket. Briefly, she wondered what the others would make of it, then decided she really didn't care. Her duty for the moment done, she turned to the group. "Is everyone still more or less alive?"

“Moruz's digits were lost hereabouts,” muttered Aethelstan as, still winded from the battle, he searched determinedly for Moruz’s fallen fingers. The ring finger was easy, but the toe, that was quite a different matter! If only he could find them and place them back onto the wound while they were yet vital, the healing power of Andur might restore them. True, Moruz might not regain the feeling he once had in his hand, but Aethelstan would do what he could to restore the valiant desert warrior.

Seeing the not-half dead priest digging around the mud, muttering about lost digits. Looking at the hands of the glass warrior and then the feet, Dujek understood what'd happened and started muttering one of the easier spells, a spell of calling and summoning. Picturing in the fingers and toes in his mind, Dujek tried to call them up from amist the bloody muck.

Prestidigitation my good man.

Logged

For the love of meat, shut up! No one wants to hear your emo character background! My hands are literally melting away, and I'm complaining less than you!—K'seliss, Goblins

<<<And the fingers and toe arose from the muck! And all the people cheered! (hehe...sorry. Nice P!)>>>

--With the necromancer's timely magic and assistance, Aethelstan went to work on Moruz.

--Aethelstan's branch still basked them in light, sticking out like a beacon in a choppy sea, from the mud. Soon however, Aethelstan knew the spell would begin to flicker and fade.

--Aerex contemplated. This is no way to take down an entire band of bandits! We all barely know each other! The dwarf alone could have slain us all. We will need a plan, foresight, tactics and luck. All but the last could be managed, he thought as he made his way among his companions.

--The cave mouth silently yawned. It was deep night now..and quiet. The sound of buzzing bugs could again be heard from the entrance of the black hole. And more bugs now, attracted by the light, droning by the hundreds in the sphere of light. A nightfly landed on Tristan's gory cheek. A mosquito plunged its proboscis into Dujek's neck. A huge moth landed on Moruz' forehead. Talia swatted away several clingy moonbeetles.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Slapping the bug on his neck Dujek took the time to actually look around, looking over the carnage half-submerged in a bloody soup. Sighing a little he walked over to the only other thing that didn't fight and started cutting the ropes off of it's body. Bundling the rope up he tossed it over his shoulder and grabbed the sickle from where it was lying. "I don't know if there's anymore of them down there, but if there are I don't want to be here when they come up to investigate. But, I do know a way to keep them busy."

Walking over to the dwarven corpse he dragged the corpse to the entrance of the cave, where he gutted him and piled up his guts. Drawing a circle with various arcane symbols around the guts Dujek started explaining to the group what he was planning on doing. "I'm going to try to bring these guts of his back to life, ah... Unlife. The thing that they become is a rather unfirendly monstrosity that enjoys killing and digesting whatever it can. And you, priest, if you could, I'd like you to drive it further into the caves, rather than attacking us. After that I suggest we vacate the area and get some rest. Does anyone have any objections?"

Logged

For the love of meat, shut up! No one wants to hear your emo character background! My hands are literally melting away, and I'm complaining less than you!—K'seliss, Goblins

“By my faith, ere now I had thought thee wise, despite thy study of black arts, but this plan is both blasphemous and foolhardy!” exclaimed Aethelstan.

“Putting aside the unholy nature of thy wretched scheme, I would that we rest before risking another such brawl. I, for one, would not sleep well knowing an undead monstrosity did explore close unto our encampment. Did not thy eldritch grimoires not warn thee, ‘Summon not what you may not putte down again!’

“Secondly, we know not what we may find within yon cavern. Yon churls,” he gestured toward the cooling bodies of the brigands, “may have had prisoners that would be at the mercy of such an unholy beast.”

“Lastly, do we not need their heads as surety that we have indeed slain the dreaded ‘Red Hatchet’ and his minion? Let us leave the guttes for later,” suggested Aethelstan. “On the morrow, we may essay yon cavern, knowing that we are rested and need not fear another such dire encounter or mortal trap.”

The dwarf was dead. Moruz stared at the empty corpse before him for several seconds before uttering "Cavasi" softly, peering at the glass flecks splayed on and around Red Hatchet. Reaching into a fold with his right hand, Moruz plucked out a pair of mirrored coins. Wait... he had just dropped his Ouzala. why? No matter - he took a step forward to place the coins over the eyes of the dwarf, and found that his legs decided otherwise - he, too dropped to his hands and knees, and soon onto his left side when his left arm could not support the weight of his body. He exhaled in a sharp grunt when his left shoulder struck the muddy ground below him, but he determinedly turned and pushed himself to his knees with his right arm and managed to lay the coins on the dwarfs eyes before his knees slipped in the mud and he found himself on the ground once more. The roar of battle still roaring maddeningly4 in his ears, Moruz no longer felt any pain, and his face registered confusion as to why his body did not want to comply with his mind. His blood mingled with the mud on the ground.

It seemed it would remain silent forever - nothing but the soft, dripping roar of Axtrami's caress falling all about him. Then Aethelstan appeared, saying something to Moruz which he couldn't quite make out and holding out his hand - in that hand was three pale, blood-drained digits. Aethelstan spoke something else which Moruz also missed - perhaps a prayer to that saint Senren of his - and reached down to pull Moruz's left hand to him. For the first time, Moruz noticed the lack of fingers on his own hand, and he now registered why the strange priest was running around waving fingers and toes at him. Still, a look of confusion was all that Moruz shared as he peered at his hand. He could not even remember when that had happened.

There was a light, and it broke the darkness that surrounded Tristan, forcing him back to consciousness, and his mind was instantly invaded by guilt. He had failed to slay the fel creature, and the agony of it tortured his mind. Quite the humbling experience in truth. He had almost gotten all of them killed. His task was to help and aid others, not to be a righteous avenger, cleansing all evil from the world. He took a deep breath, preparing for a sigh, but began coughing as pain flooded back through his body like a flood, almost reducing the priest to unconsciousness again. With the aid of Dujek, he rose to his feet slowly, painfully. He had made a mess of things, now it was his job to fix them as he could.

Looking around, he noted that all save the Glass Warrior were in decent, if battered, condition. The spear-fighter, however, was in a very bad way. Chances are if he wasn't given aid soon, he would perish. Stumbling and falling over himself, Tristan shambled over to Moruz, trying to push the fallen warrior over onto his back before beginning a silent prayer to Trigu for divine intercession upon the desert man's behalf. Holy Father, cleanse and heal this man lying before me, that by your mercy he will have the time to turn towards your Holy Light and follow the Path you have laid for us.

Whether or not the prayer was acted upon by Trigu, Tristan could do no more, and fell limp against Dujek, unconscious once more.

(OOC: Yes I read Pariah's message, but Tristan is so IC focused on healing and overcome by sheer exhaustion that he doesn't hear the inquiry about raising the dwarf into undeath.)